


Smells like Peppermint

by avtorSola



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alpha!Ichigo, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Do NOT mess with Hitsugaya, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hitsugaya and Ichigo challenge all of societal convention because why the hell not, I really just wanted a nesting Toushirou, Ichigo will just laugh, It wasn't supposed to turn into this, Just a lot of life scenes, M/M, Nesting, No Plot/Plotless, Not your average Omegaverse AU, Omega!Toushirou, Post-Thousand Year Blood War Arc, Seireitei but with A/B/O dynamics, Slice of Life, also a purring Toushirou, also some angst, because everyone in my bleach discord is ANGST INCARNATE, but that might change, he will end you, hence the rating, hopefully, ichihitsu - Freeform, non-graphic sex scenes, okay this is going to have lots of fluff, probably kinda drabble-y
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-06-09 01:41:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15256632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avtorSola/pseuds/avtorSola
Summary: Three days into his permanent relocation to Seireitei and sudden Captaincy of the Third Division, and Ichigo suddenly finds out that shinigami and humans really aren't the same at all. For one, there are three different dynamics within the overall male-female genders. Second, there are a bunch of societal conventions he hasn't been following and now must learn to deal with. And third, he doesn't really agree with the common prejudices about any of the dynamics. At all.And then his scowling, aggressive, adorable little spitfire of a boyfriend, the one and only Hitsugaya Toushiro, presents as an Omega - the first captain to do so in Seireitei's history.Ichigo almost has to laugh at the irony.





	1. I'm a What?

**Author's Note:**

> So, this started out as an idea on the Bleach-fandom discord server I'm a part of, and (of course) evolved into absolute nonsense. It will most likely stay in a chronological order, but there's no overarching plot beyond IchiHitsu fluffiness and the absolute destruction of Seireitei stereotype. Lots of cuteness and lots of probable badassery. Maybe. Mostly cuteness.
> 
> Also probably lots of hormonally-induced OOC situations.

“What do you _mean_ , I’m an Alpha?”

Ichigo’s drawn mouth and puckered eyebrows were the first clue, but the overflowing heady pheromones surrounding his entire body and casually drifting through the entirety of Seireitei one breeze at a time were what really clued Renji in to the fact that one of his best friends was an Alpha and entirely unaware of it. He pulled a face, grinding his teeth together in irritation. Had nobody told this moron _anything_? Being an Alpha wasn’t a bad thing – in fact, most high-ranking shinigami were Alphas – but it did come with a certain measure of responsibility.

“Don’t you know _anything_ about shinigami?” Renji barked, already starting to feel his hackles rise. Ichigo’s scent was getting strong and he could already recognize that he was getting unnecessarily on edge. “I thought Rukia would have taught you about at least _some_ of this stuff, way back when. It’s actually pretty important.”

Ichigo seemed to at least notice the tension in Renji’s strained voice, because he frowned, cocking his head to the side in traffic-cone askance, his haori a brand-new addition to his typical shihakusho. They’d been sitting on top of the Third Division’s administrative buildings for a little while now, just long enough for Ichigo’s distinctive Alpha scent to start to settle and thicken.

“…I mean…she mentioned that some shinigami exhibit more dominant traits than others do,” Ichigo mused, looking very unsure of himself suddenly. “But she got kind of flustered and wouldn’t really say much more than that. Something about being ‘only a Substitute’ or all that mess you lot liked to give me before Kyoraku became Soutaicho.”

Renji groaned loudly, gazing up at the clouds in the sky with forced exasperation. Truth be told, this wasn’t exactly his favorite thing to talk about. It was kind of awkward at points, and there was a lot of contention over certain issues – like the whole Omega thing. But it was really important that Ichigo learn about it, especially as an Alpha.

“Alright, well, it’s really damn important,” Renji grumbled. “It’s basically the essentials of spiritual reproduction and a lot of societal hierarchy revolves around it.”

He paused, watching as a snowy mop of hair and a lean, gangling figure passed them by, Captain Hitsugaya’s customary snarls of annoyance echoing on the walkway beneath them. Renji eyed the willowy captain for a minute, musing vaguely. The brat that had once been the Seireitei’s kid-captain had shot up to around 165cm in the past decade, now approaching a small-framed young adult in physical appearance. Lucky bastard. His growth spurt shunted him through the worst years of adolescence at a pace comparable to a human, while some shinigami were stuck in puberty for _years_.

Hmm. He was probably close to presenting, then, if he wasn’t a Beta. Renji hoped he’d be a Beta, if only for Ichigo’s sake. Alpha-Alpha relationships weren’t unheard of, but they were tricky and often fraught with tension. If Hitsugaya presented as an Alpha, the clashing territorial instincts could end his and Ichigo’s relationship. But Hitsugaya was definitely small enough to end up as a Beta – even if he wasn’t fully grown, he was still on the small side for an Alpha his age. There was still hope.

“Basically, there are three types of soul – Alphas, Betas, and Omegas,” Renji sighed, running one hand through the coarse cherry tangle of his hair. “Male or female, every soul is one of those three types. And each one is a little different, though we all have scent glands on either side of the neck and in the underside of each wrist. The majority of souls are Beta-types, which is pretty much the same as being a normal human like you’re used to. The only difference is a Beta’s nose – they’re more than aware of when an Alpha or an Omega is nearby and releasing pheromones, and they can be affected by both an Alpha’s or an Omega’s scents.”

Ichigo suddenly seemed a little pale, as if the gears were starting to click a little bit forward in his brain. Renji raised a tattooed eyebrow, absently wondering if his friend was starting to put the pieces together inside that thick skull of his.

“Alphas, on the other hand – well, they’re a little different. For one, Alphas will release pheromones that can force Betas and Omegas into submission if the concentration is high enough, and they’re usually…well, they’re very good at having kids for certain biological reasons, and female Alphas can…well, they can get others pregnant too. It’s a 95% success rate.” Renji explained, starting to feel uncomfortable with the subject himself, but the dawning realization on Ichigo’s face was entirely necessary. “Alphas can also form something called a Soul Bond with their chosen mate, and particularly strong Soul Bonds can result in telepathy, reiatsu-sharing, and all kinds of unusual things. And Alphas also are particularly at ease in leadership positions, which is why a majority of the officers in Seireitei are Alphas. They’re also notoriously territorial.”

Ichigo’s mouth fell open in a round ‘O’ of shock, and he made a strained wheezing noise. Renji smacked him on the back as hard as he could, a vein popping in his brow.

“So,” Renji said aggravatedly, “Because of this, most Alphas in Seireitei without an Omega partner usually wear a scent-blocker of some kind, or they take an oral suppressant. The pheromones are useful at times, mostly for calming down upset Omegas, but not for giving orders. You need to get some of that – I’m already starting to get pissed off with your presence.”

Ichigo suddenly looked remarkably contrite, and highly worried. Renji didn’t blame him. It would be somewhat difficult to suddenly find out that part of the reason Kenpachi wouldn’t leave him alone was because he was letting his Alpha scent track over everything he touched.

“…what about Omegas?” Ichigo asked suddenly, and Renji felt something of a tingle low in his stomach. He laughed nervously. Omegas were controversial at best. Unsavory shinigami viewed them as weaklings, suitable only to produce children or to be used for pleasure, and while this wasn’t the overarching view of most individuals, most were wary of placing them on the frontlines. Alphas and Betas could fight without issue for the most part, but Omegas…were soft. Gentle. Most of them hated seeing others hurt and hated fighting.

It was only natural to want to protect souls that were too gentle to fight.

“Well, for starters, they’re pretty uncommon. But they’re also prized in Seireitei and among the noble clans because of how fertile they are – it’s almost unheard of for an Omega in a steady relationship to not have multiple children,” Renji said, the tingling in his stomach only getting worse. “Omegas also emit pheromones, especially to attract others when they’re in heat, and they’re unique in that both male and female Omegas are able to bear children. They’re also prone to a lot of nurturing and caretaking behaviors. Most Omegas end up in a Soul Bond with an Alpha, and Alpha pheromones are difficult for Omegas to resist. Most Omegas are relatively submissive, too - they tend to avoid conflict and choose heal hurts instead. Omegas that are shinigami usually end up in the Fourth Division. But Omegas are intensely protective – and when truly angered, they’re every bit as dangerous as a Vasto Lorde. It’s really, really hard to push them that far, though, so they’re usually easy targets for pushier individuals. Most Omegas usually wear scent-blocker or take oral suppressants too, just to avoid unwanted attention from Alphas and Betas.”

Ichigo’s jaw was slack on the floor, his brain probably spitting sparks as it rapidly short-circuited. Renji almost pitied him and his tiny brain for a minute. Absorbing an entirely different facet of a society he’d only just immigrated to barely three days after his arrival had to be difficult.

A slight chill crept down his back then, like someone was watching. Someone dangerous.

“Kurosaki, why the hell aren’t you in your office?”

Oh. Well. An annoyed Captain Hitsugaya Toushiro would probably count as _really fucking dangerous_.

“H-Hitsugaya-taicho!!” Renji stuttered out, whirling around so quickly he thought he’d snap his neck. The white-haired captain had appeared silently, standing directly behind him with a scowl and a raised eyebrow, jade gaze glaring ferociously down at the two other shinigami sitting on the roof. Ichigo turned a blank stare on Hitsugaya, creeping horror trickling through his brown eyes.

“Ah…sorry, Toushiro,” Ichigo said, obviously thrown entirely off balance by what Renji had just told him. “I come up here sometimes to watch the sky. Renji followed me.”

Hitsugaya made a soft clicking sound with his tongue, hands tucked firmly under each other across his lean chest, and his eyes narrowed even further, a spark of _something_ crackling in the pits and carved sculpture of his face. Renji felt a flicker of realization, suddenly realizing that if the young captain had presented as an Alpha, then he’d be very sensitive to Ichigo’s scent.

For Ichigo’s sake, he yet again prayed that the ice-wielder would be a Beta.

“It appeared Kurosaki-taicho was unaware of Alpha-Beta-Omega dynamics, Hitsugaya-taicho,” Renji said quickly, trying to head off the growing storm. It appeared to work, a flash of lightning-like comprehension passing across his fine golden features. “I was just filling him in on the specifics. Seems he didn’t realize he was an Alpha.”

Hitsugaya’s expression smoothed out, and the air stilled. Renji felt himself shiver again. And then Hitsugaya sighed, obviously resigning himself, and reached out to take Ichigo’s hand, pulling all six feet of his boyfriend upright easily.

“I see,” he said quietly. “Well then, I think I’ll take it from here and find him some scentblocker – my lieutenant considers herself an expert on all of this.”

Renji watched as Hitsugaya dragged a wan-looking Ichigo away, blinking rapidly, his left hand twitching. He took a deep breath, the distinctive scent of minty scentblocker fresh in the air. It wasn’t his, so it must have been Hitsugaya’s…and if he was using scentblocker, it meant he wasn’t a Beta, because Betas didn’t need scentblocker. Renji sighed, lowering his head into his hands.

Ichigo would need all the help he could get to stay in a relationship with another Alpha – especially if that Alpha was Hitsugaya.

* * *

Toushiro’s house was nice. Most of the rooms were immaculate, the windows large and the ceilings high and airy. But despite the cleanliness, Ichigo never felt out of place in his boyfriend’s home. However, he was surprised when instead of fleeing to his lieutenant, his lean-bodied beau hustled home and then locked the front door behind them. Ichigo felt a flicker of concern, and without thinking he folded his arms around Toushiro, lowering his head a few centimeters to rest on Hitsugaya’s shoulder.

“Hey, everything okay?” he asked, taking a deep breath. Hitsugaya’s distinctive minty scent seemed especially pungent today and he paused, wondering what the over-sharp, under-sweet scent meant. Toushiro sucked in a sharp breath.

“…Not really,” he said softly, hands curling into fists at his sides. “…I had hoped you wouldn’t find out about the Alpha-Beta-Omega dynamics for a while yet.”

That rang some alarm bells, but Ichigo let Toushiro go as the young captain shrugged out of his grip, cheeks flushing pink, understanding that the ice-wielder might need some space.

“…what are you talking about?” he asked, “It’s weird, yes, but that doesn’t mean anything. I’m not leaving. I moved here to be with you.”

Toushiro went a pretty shade of fuchsia at that, cheeks turning bright and tropical with color. He took a pace into the living room, then paused, nearly went white in shock, and spun around on his heel. Ichigo felt his anxiety reaching blinding levels of protective furor.

“Ichigo, what do you think of those three classes? Just from what Abarai told you?”

The question was abrupt, but it did stop Ichigo in his tracks, and he halted just in front of Toushiro, who was resolutely staring at the floor, his knuckles white on the doorframe.

“…Honestly? Betas seem like humans, except they can tell when someone forgot to bathe,” he started, eyeing his lover keenly. Hitsugaya smirked a bit at that, the expression halfhearted but still there. “Alphas…ugh, I guess I know a lot of them if a lot of Alphas are high-ranking…but from what Renji told me…? I guess some of them lord it over the Betas and Omegas and miss the point of leadership entirely. So…probably like Kurotsuchi, that clown bastard.”

Hitsugaya snorted at that, now actually hiding a smile, though he was still drawn as tightly as a bowstring, and Ichigo felt himself relax a little bit, puzzled by the question but sensing that it was important to his snow-capped boyfriend.

“And the Omegas…I’d guess that Hanatarou is an Omega,” he said at long last, remembering the young healer from all those years ago when he’d invaded Seireitei with Orihime, Uryuu, Chad, Ganju, and Yoruichi. “Which means that they’re probably discriminated against sometimes. I can remember a lot of Squad Eleven guys pushing him around.”

Hitsugaya looked a bit bitter, and he wrapped his hands around his ribcage, then dropped them, like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands. He laughed harshly, but the sound came out a thin and slightly despairing.

“You’re basically right,” he said. “About the Omegas and the Alphas. Omegas in leadership positions get harassed like you wouldn’t believe. And when they’re not being harassed, they’re doubted and people try to coddle them with all kinds of fluffy shit.”

Something clicked in Ichigo’s brain, the overly-sharp scent of mint now seeming highly unfamiliar and artificial, and he tried to stay calm, even if only for Hitsugaya’s sake.

“Hanatarou also helped me save Rukia,” he said lowly, brown eyes gleaming. “He put aside the laws and rules and all the stupid shit to do what he thought was right. He saved me from bleeding out, and the way Ganju tells it, he also offered to go fight Byakuya alone so everyone else could escape at one point.”

That seemed to catch Hitsugaya’s attention, and his emerald eyes widened slightly, just enough for Ichigo to catch the movement. He felt sharp pangs of worry and compassion crushing at his heart, driving him forward to close the distance that Toushiro had put between them, the notes of distress and upset leaking through the pungent scentblocker triggering some reflexive itch to _comfort_.

“…Toushiro, you should know that I can’t judge people based on what they are,” he reminded. “I’m the biggest mutt in Seireitei and you know it. And if Hanatarou is the measure of an Omega, then they’re the kindest, bravest type of person there is.”

 The hallway was quiet for a several heartbeats – nine, to be exact, since Ichigo was starting to get so worried about Toushiro’s frozen silence that he was counting. And then, without any warning whatsoever, Toushiro crumpled to the floor as if the gravity had increased tenfold and burst into violent sobs. It was like a switch had been flicked, some squealing instinct screaming for him to drop to his knees beside Hitsugaya’s curled form. He obeyed without even thinking, hands gently reaching out to run soothingly through Toushiro’s fluffy white hair, soft crooning noises starting to purr at the back of his throat and deep in his chest.

Hitsugaya didn’t appear to notice the gentle petting, his shoulders shaking, face hidden in his hands, tears dripping through his fingers. And suddenly Ichigo found the right words to address the situation.

“Toushiro, you’re one of the strongest people I know, and no stupid Alpha-Omega-Beta bullshit or whatever is going to change that. Come on, Toushiro, look at me.”

Slowly, Toushiro drew his hands away from his face, something hollow in his eyes. Tear tracks were very evident on his chiseled face and Ichigo had to consciously stop himself from kissing the tears off his boyfriend’s face. He had to let Toushiro speak.

“…I started nesting, Ichigo,” he said, voice empty, “yesterday morning, I just…I _had_ to. It’s in the living room, under the table by the window.”

Nesting? If that was anything like he thought it was, then it sounded remarkably comfortable, and he didn’t get the apparent connection between that and whatever was making Toushiro cry. God, that just _sounded_ wrong, Toushiro crying. Ichigo swallowed, then took a deep breath and smoothed the chunk of white bangs away from his slender lover’s forehead, smiling faintly.

“Nesting? Like, you took all the pillows and blankets and made a comfy spot out of them?” When Toushiro nodded, his eyes now dry, Ichigo just laughed a little. “That sounds amazing. Why are you upset over it?”

Toushiro stared at him, then he took a deep breath and sat up, leaning into Ichigo’s touch. The orange-headed shinigami blinked, the white of Toushiro’s hair melding seamlessly with his new haori, then held back the rapid flutters of his heart in favor of tucking the smaller man close to his chest. Toushiro nosed into his neck, breath fluttering over his collarbones, inhaling deeply. Slowly, Ichigo realized that Toushiro was instinctively seeking out his scent – the Alpha scent that Renji had found so disconcerting just earlier. The thought sent a warm pulse of affection through his chest, a tingling sparkle crackling along his limbs. Toushiro nuzzled him absently again, eyes closing slowly.

“…nesting is part of an Omega’s pre-heat cycle,” he said softly, “Omegas usually make nests for comfort, but before they’re mated they’ll go through heat in a nest and they’ll start nesting about a week before...so…since I’m getting the urge to make one, and since I’m over-emotional…what’s going to happen next week when the rest of Seireitei finds out that I’m…?”

Ichigo nodded, understanding Toushiro’s quiet dismay now. He remembered how Hanatarou had been shunted aside like he was nothing, and the thought of that disrespect being shown to his boyfriend was almost intolerable. Especially since Toushiro had worked so hard to gain the power he’d attained.

“Well, I guess it’s a good thing you can kick anyone’s ass six ways to Sunday then, hm?” he mused, trying to keep his proxy anger subdued. “Including mine. Give ‘em all hell, Toushiro.”

Hitsugaya chuckled weakly into his shoulder, still curled up on the floor, shoulders trembling. Ichigo smiled, pressing a quick kiss to Toushiro’s forehead, then lifted the white-haired captain in his arms, ignoring the squawk of protest with a cheerful bounce in his step.

“Soooo, can I see your nest, Toushiro?” he asked, grinning like an idiot as Toushiro settled down with a grumpy scowl, resigned to Ichigo’s nonsense. He let out a soft click, tongue flicking off the roof of his mouth in irritation, and curled closer to his Alpha’s heartbeat.

“You damn well better get in it with me,” he growled out, and Ichigo felt that shimmering tingle of warmth cascade down his back like warm rain, pleasant and pattering. He nosed open the door of Toushiro’s living room with his foot and slid easily inside, careful of his lean boyfriend’s long limbs, teeth glinting white in the sunlight streaming in through Hitsugaya’s window, his hair afire.

“Oh, don’t worry, I will.”


	2. Presenting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rangiku finds out, Ichigo comes to the rescue, and Toushiro hates being feverish.

Nine days had passed since Toushiro had made the first nest in his living room, and it was obvious he was getting more and more anxious as the fever remained elusive. Ichigo had – at his request – continued to use scentblocker, despite how comforting he found Ichigo’s soothing notes of smoky hardwoods and rich spice to be, though the carrot-top had consented to rub his scent glands against every blanket and pillow in the cozy pocket Toushiro had built for himself.

He had also stocked up on every kind of snack available while Toushiro’s back was turned, and had read every book on Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics that the Seireitei had to offer. Several apologies were also made, mostly to Ichigo’s friends, who had been getting irritated at his lack of scentblocker, and Rangiku, who was an Alpha herself and had been getting very annoyed by his constant interactions with her ‘unpresented’ captain. Toushiro had barely been able to look her in the face when Ichigo had been apologizing, a sick sort of dread settling into the pit of his stomach. Everyone Ichigo had apologized to had been forgiving, though, some even laughing off his ignorance with eye-rolls and sly commentary about overcompensation.

That particular comment had landed Madarame in the hospital, but then, it was probably what the crazy lieutenant had wanted anyway.

But now it was Monday, eight days since he’d invited Ichigo into the nest he’d created, and it was two p.m, and his head was _spinning_. He’d been snappish and defensive all week, the roiling swells of upset and elation sending him on a veritable rollercoaster ride. Everyone in his division had noticed as well, but they’d come to a conclusion very different than what he was expecting. Of course, it made sense, after he thought about it for a while. It wasn’t as if he was in the habit of mincing his words, and he’d always been ferocious in both temperament and commitment to his Division. Plus, he was on the large side for an Omega, large enough to pass easily as a Beta or an undersized Alpha.

It really wasn’t that farfetched for everyone to believe that he was an Alpha.

“Taicho, remember to tell me if your heart starts racing and you start feeling more aggressive than usual, okay?” Rangiku reminded him for the thousandth time, her blue eyes bright and merry. They were outside, watching their Sixth Seats’ squadrons move through Zanjutsu exercises. Toushiro rolled his eyes toward the sky, trying to suppress the groan rising in his chest.

“You’ve told me a million times, Matsumoto.”

The groan came out regardless, and the world shivered sideways a little bit. Pungent evergreen and mint scentblocker layered protection over his own changing scent, hiding the peppermint and citrus sweetness that was slowly invading his scent glands. It was the only thing stopping Seireitei at large from finding out that one of their thirteen captains wasn’t only a non-Alpha shinigami, but wasn’t even a Beta-type.

The last captain to not be an Alpha-type was none other than Ichimaru Gin, who had been a solidly aggressive Beta. But even he had still faced some doubt from the more traditionally-minded nobles and shinigami. Hitsugaya dreaded to think about what that would mean for how he would be treated in the coming centuries.

After all, while he might be able to fool everyone into thinking he was an Alpha experiencing his first rut in the beginning, it was going to be impossible to keep up that kind of charade for more than a few days. If anything, Ichigo’s behavior alone would be a dead giveaway, as would his strengthening scent and his increasingly high emotions.

The thought of the rapidly-approaching threat of being outed as an Omega sent a chill of dizzying fear down his spine. Heat flashed through him, flushing the scene in front of him with faint hints of a rosy blur. The distinct lines of his subordinates’ uniforms seemed to haze over, like the sunshine was creating a heat haze on the ground, and sweat trickled down the inside of his thigh.

Something cold touched his forehead then, bars of ice fluttering over his face, and he inhaled reflexively, Rangiku’s incense-and-saffron-scent leaking through the neutral mask of rose petals overlaying it. It was heady, an intoxicating blend of spice and smoke and strong Alpha pheromones, just barely detectable beneath the veneer of rose scentblocker. Then he heard his lieutenant’s voice in a soft undertone, a rare note of command there that cracked at the shards of willpower keeping him upright. Her hand returned to his forehead, again brushing over his heated brow.

“Taicho, if you’re feeling unwell, you should go home,” she said, and the suggestion sent ripples of cool water through the tide of boiling blood in his veins for long enough that he tore his gaze away from the fuzzing figures of his subordinates and looked at her. Realization was starting to creep into his mind in fragmented pieces, and he could see understanding dawning in the blue of her gaze.

“…please…” he whispered, barely able to get the word out, but it was enough. Matsumoto’s arms instantly wrapped around his waist and shoulders, pulling him in close, the warmth of her body pleasantly cool compared to the furnace burning in him. And then he heard the familiar buzz of Shunpo, a rush of wind racing over his blazing skin, and he gasped for breath, heart pounding violently in his chest, sweat – no, it wasn’t sweat, but he didn’t want to admit to what it _actually_ was – trickling down his legs steadily now. Ichigo’s cedar-and-hickory-and-cinnamon scent tickled his nose, and without even thinking about it he almost whimpered, the high-pitched, pleading whine dying on his tongue. Safe – almost safe, almost _there-_

Matsumoto’s grip on his body shifted and his knees gave out, legs trembling, the world spinning in violent circles around his head. His hakama twisted as she swept his feet out from under him, the cloth and the coolness of her hand brushing against the back of his leg and all at once the urge hit him. A sledgehammer of pleading want walloped him in the gut, driving spikes of sudden sensation up into him, making him hyperaware of the _nothing_ currently in him, of the desperate ache in his whole body.

“…taicho, where…?”

He could hear Rangiku’s breaths getting ragged with rising panic, his scentblocker obviously failing against the overwhelmingly enticing sweetness of his scent, but her heart rate stayed steady, and he knew he could trust her.

“…living- ahh- living room-”

It was all he could do to talk, the wave of mindless, desperate lust tingling like fire over every nerve in his body, but Rangiku got the message, and a moment later he could smell Ichigo’s scent everywhere, mixed with a hint of Hinamori’s soft floral crispness and the saffron incense of the scarf he’d filched from Matsumoto earlier that week. Arms shaking, he pressed himself up, dragging his fevered body to one side of his nest, reaching the blue pillow Ichigo had bought for him just yesterday. Wheezing and whimpering, he buried his face in his boyfriend’s scent, trying to calm the hormones pouring through him like molten stone. It worked a little bit, but the ponderous weight of the itching, near-painful _need_ low in his belly was far too strong.

He raised his head, knowing full well that his face was red and flushed, that his scent was thick with sex pheromones, but regardless of this he saw Rangiku sitting a good two meters from the edge of his nest, her complexion only faintly pink. She seemed relatively at ease, though her forehead was pinched with worry.

“…far away,” he breathed, riding through the fever as best as he could. Matsumoto gave him a small smile.

“You’ve already got a boyfriend, Taicho,” she said with a light laugh. It was only a touch strained. “Besides, you’re more like family than anything to me.”

Family- oh, thank _god_. Blood relations or strong familial relationships were the only surefire way to immunize an Alpha against an Omega’s pheromones while they were in heat. He laughed weakly, then burst into rapid tears as another swell of red-hot _desire_ swept down his spine.

“Scent- your clothes, I couldn’t-” he babbled, only half aware of the fact that he was writhing against the blankets he’d cuddled around his little space while he spoke. Matsumoto carefully crept closer, wiping at her neck and wrists with a packet of towelettes, and slowly the odor of her scentblocker faded. She started crooning softly, the low, humming purr mixing comfortingly with her familiar scent.

“…you want some of my clothes for your nest, Taicho?” she asked, her voice thick with emotion at the request, and all he could do was nod helplessly, dizzy with fever and writhing need. She reached out, brushing his hair off his forehead.

“Okay, I’ll get some for you,” she agreed. “Does Ichigo know about this?”

Ichigo. His mind latched onto the thought of his Alpha, and squeezing the memory of the discussions they’d had earlier that week out of his rattling brain. Ichigo. He _needed_ Ichigo.

“…yeah. He-he’s going t-to help.”

The implication of what that sentence meant wasn’t lost on Matsumoto, and suddenly a wave of heady, protective caution swept over him, her scent strengthening. The blue of her gaze lit up with fire, and after a moment she growled low and summoned a Hell Butterfly on the tip of her finger. The tinkling chime as it flew away, message safely coded into its dark wings, came quickly and Matsumoto stood.

The box of snacks and the cooler of drinks in the corner of the room didn’t escape her notice, and before Toushiro knew exactly what was happening she had a cup of water in her hands, poking a straw through the lid. He lifted his head as she came closer, a weak growl bubbling in the back of his throat, but Rangiku eased her way through his instinctive urge to drive her away from his safe place, reaching over the top of his nest with the cup.

“Taicho, drink some water, please.”

He did, taking the straw into his mouth obediently, sipping at the drink he’d been offered through the delirium slowly overtaking him. Rangiku kept crooning at him, the comforting sound and scent of her presence easing the desperate need burning at his insides. And then he heard a low growl, a threatening, protective snarl that didn’t belong to his lieutenant, and his heart rate skyrocketed.

“Rangiku-san…” Toushiro looked up through the hazy delirium of heat, Ichigo’s brilliant hair and deep chocolate eyes unnaturally clear. There was hostility and worry in his face, the hostility clearly due to Rangiku’s presence.

“…I just brought him here, Ichigo-taicho,” she replied evenly. Her scent changed, threatening and defensive, and it curled around him like a shield. “…I’ll only say this to you once. You hurt my captain, and I’ll kill you.”

Ichigo snarled lowly, but the tension in the room started to ease, the hostility in both Rangiku’s and Ichigo’s scents easing away as the two Alphas appeared to come to an understanding. Toushiro whimpered, squirming into the blankets and pillows of his nest, burying his face in Hinamori’s calm Beta scent, trying to avoid the stench of threat in the air. Instantly the mood of the room changed, and Ichigo’s cinnamon-hardwood pheromones wrapped around him, the traces of lemon scentblocker fading. The hostility evaporated.

“Easy, love,” he purred gently, approaching the edge of Toushiro’s nest. “Easy. Can I come in there with you?”

“God, _please_ , Ichigo,” he groaned. “I-I _can’t-_ ”

Rangiku stood, her blue eyes soft but cautious, and she reached back into the box of supplies to pull out a small, unopened package that Ichigo had purchased earlier. She tossed it their way with a sigh.

“Don’t get him knocked up, Ichigo-taicho – he’d kill you once his mind clears,” she warned, and Ichigo snarled with budding aggression but caught the package. Then Rangiku stalked out of the room, a barrier shimmering into existence over the walls behind her, and Ichigo shed his haori and kosode before sliding easily into the nest at Toushiro’s side. Toushiro cried out softly as Ichigo’s skin pressed against his back, strong, muscular arms sliding about his waist to hold him, and he writhed desperately, heart racing beneath his searing skin.

Then he heard the low, possessive growl curling into the shell of his ear, teeth grazing lightly over the side of his throat, over the sensitive scent glands in his neck. Ichigo’s scent grew thicker, his grip firmer, a heavy musk sending stars of incoherence across the ceiling. Cool fingers dipped under his obi, loosening his uniform pants. The fever in his blood spiked higher, face flaming. And then a knee slotted between his legs, pressing up against the heat burning in his core, and he couldn’t help the throaty, begging whine that came out of his mouth.

Ichigo chuckled, his voice rough and low, the musk surrounding him intoxicating. But he was holding Toushiro still, spooning him in a cocoon of desire and the insatiable need to have that emptiness inside his gut filled, over and over until the fever was driven out of him.

“Can I undress you, Toushiro?” he murmured. Hitsugaya gasped, the world still spinning at dizzying pace around his head, but Ichigo had _asked_ , was seeking his consent even though most wouldn’t bother looking for consent from an Omega caught in the full throes of heat-driven sexual need. And suddenly his heart was bursting in his chest, the sweet Omega scent he’d been trying to suppress behind scentblockers and his own iron control bursting out in full force. He laughed shakily, knowing what was coming and finally accepting it for the first time since he’d made the nest.

It was Ichigo. His sweet, kind Alpha who looked for permission and guidance even when he was helpless to refuse, helpless to defend himself. Ichigo, who hadn’t treated him any differently when his gender dynamic had reared its ugly, submissive head.

Heavens above, he really did love this hybrid mutt.

“ _Yes_.”

And then Ichigo’s hands slid into his clothing and everything dissolved into bliss.


	3. Afterglow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hitsugaya's heat finally ends, and he comes to terms a little more with his gender dynamic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene was why I changed the rating to E. There will probably be more like it in the future. Still don't know if I'm ready to write/upload a full lemon yet, though.

His first heat lasted five days, during which he barely left his nest for more than thirty minutes at a time. Ichigo stayed with him, his first rut triggered by the outpouring of enticing scent from his Omega boyfriend, and they took advantage of their synced schedules to ease the constant state of arousal. Rangiku checked up on them every few hours, making sure they were both drinking enough water and eating, almost always wearing a powerful scentblocker to hide the protective Alpha pheromones that would inevitably trail behind her. It was a gesture both of them appreciated.

“…you okay, Toushiro?”

It was hard to concentrate, a string of drool trailing down his chin, the pressure and pleasure coursing through his slim body like sedative on the thick flame burning in his core. He was still convulsing, muscles still involuntarily flexing around Ichigo, the mind-numbing rhythm of five minutes prior still fresh in his body’s muscle memory.

“…Mmm.” The hum was all he could manage, the temporary cooldown and relief provided by Ichigo still not enough to alleviate the lethargy and dizziness that came with heat. He shifted slightly, Ichigo’s waist still pressed flush between his thighs, and whimpered as a low growl came out of his Alpha’s throat.

“Don’t. Move,” Ichigo hissed, panting. His rut had come to an end early that morning, which meant that the end of Toushiro’s heat probably wasn’t far behind, but Ichigo was exhausted. Toushiro would have felt sorry for him if the fever and desperate need for sex wasn’t so intolerable. He tried not to move again, but the shuddering pleasure rippling through him made his body uncooperative, and he shifted again.

Almost instantly, Ichigo had his hips pinned down, gleaming teeth nipping lightly at the sensitive crook of his neck, grazing over the swollen scent glands there. Toushiro keened softly, Ichigo’s weight pressing fully into him. He found himself trapped, but in a strangely close, comforting way, pressed gently into the blankets and pillows by his lover’s body weight and warmth and close hold.

“I said, _don’t move_ ,” Ichigo growled again, the sound distinctly gentle, a low, rumbling croon starting to hum deep in his broad chest. “Not while I’ve got you knotted.”

Toushiro breathed deeply, inhaling a lungful of Ichigo’s scent, and lay as still as he could, the blissful high beginning to drop down into contented peace. It was strange, being so vulnerable like this, being so absolutely helpless, and he hated it with all his heart. But at the same time, he felt safe, felt incomprehensibly protected in Ichigo’s arms in a way he’d never felt before. He wasn’t sure whether to blame the Omega hormones running thick in his blood or not, because even before he’d begun to show signs of presenting as an Omega, he’d trusted Ichigo. This was just taking it a step further really, giving physical evidence of his complete trust in Ichigo.

“…sorry,” he gasped finally, burrowing his nose into Ichigo’s orange hair, slender hands clutching vainly at the broad, freckled shoulders. “It’s just- constant _pressure_ \- ah- for fifteen minutes…”

Ichigo chuckled breathlessly at that, kissing the side of Toushiro’s gold-toned throat and scraping his teeth over the sweat-slicked flesh there. Hitsugaya whined incoherently, then gritted his teeth and purposefully flexed his core muscles, dragging a low moan out of his partner. He laughed weakly, stars exploding behind his eyes, a smirk of satisfaction creeping across his scarlet cheeks. His retribution had only backfired a little bit.

“Oooh- _god_ , don’t do that,” Ichigo hissed, “I almost bit down and marked you.”

Those were the last words spoken between them for a while, Toushiro reddening at the thought of accidentally receiving a mating bite. He and Ichigo had agreed before his heat had begun that, for the moment, there would be no mating bites and that they’d use protection to avoid an unwanted pregnancy. However, it was definitely a discussion they’d have to have at some point. Especially now that they’d both presented with their respective dynamics. Toushiro knew that being an unmated Omega was dangerous. Traditionalist radicals often targeted them, harassing them endlessly or worse - mating them against their will.

And somehow, he rather thought Ichigo wouldn’t like him murdering idiots that made unwanted advances.

After a few more breathless minutes, the swollen knot had returned to its usual size, and Ichigo and Toushiro were finally able to separate and clean themselves up. Toushiro could feel the flush of unbearable heat in his bones receding, slowly draining away, and by the time his legs could support his weight he felt almost normal, the hypersensitivity to Ichigo’s scent a faded memory of what it had been. He showered sluggishly and got dressed, then pulled the blankets sticky with sweat and other bodily fluids out of his nest and tossed them in the hamper Ichigo had brought down after that first coupling.

And then he collapsed face down amid the piled blankets, pillows, and various articles of Ichigo and Rangiku’s donated clothes, a huge sigh escaping him, and curled up with the pillow he’d filched from Hinamori.

A few moments later, there was a light chuckle.

“Toushiro, you awake?”

He let out a halfhearted grunt, his damp, clean hair plastered to the back of his neck, then peered up at his boyfriend through sticky eyes. Ichigo was leaning over him, looking every bit as tired as Toushiro felt, and the hybrid captain reached down gently, brushing a large, warm hand over the golden forehead. Toushiro closed his eyes again, sighing.

“…your fever finally broke. Seems like your heat is over,” he commented, and Hitsugaya almost cried with relief at the confirmation of his suspicions. “Do you want me to stay or go?”

“…cuddle me?”

He felt immeasurably stupid asking for it, but lying alone in his nest just didn’t feel right without Ichigo’s touch, without the comforting warmth of another body tangled around his. He needed someone to cling to right now, as pathetic as he felt, worn out from five days of libido so intense he hadn’t been able to sleep for more than three hours at a time. But the soft pads of Ichigo’s fingers curled beneath his chin, tilting his face away from Hinamori’s pillow so that he couldn’t avert his gaze.

The rich dark of those eyes was like melted chocolate, a broad slash of honey dripping over his brow, hair soaked in light. Hitsugaya felt his breath catch in his chest – and good thing too, for the breathy inhale made it so easy to relax into the pillows as Ichigo’s mouth captured his. Teeth grazed lightly against his bottom lip, so tender and patient, and as his lips parted willingly Ichigo’s tongue slipped in, stroking the roof of his mouth.

There was nothing hungry or needy about the kiss, just a gentle, careful tenderness that had a different kind of pink blush rising to Toushiro’s cheeks. And then suddenly Ichigo’s hands were on either side of his head, knees on either side of his waist. The Third-Division Captain pulled away, nipping affectionately at Toushiro’s upper lip as he went.

“I’ll cuddle you for as long as you’ll let me,” he said, and for a moment Hitsugaya was speechless, unsure of how to respond to something so intensely gentle.

And then Ichigo flopped bonelessly down on top of him, driving the breath from his lungs for an entirely different reason.

“-Ooof, Ichigo, you _bastard-_ ”

The cacophonous sound of Ichigo’s throaty laughter rang in Toushiro’s ears until they turned red, but as he started to drift off, lulled into sleep by the steady beat of his lover’s heart and the spicy, soothing aroma of that distinct scent, he felt Ichigo roll to the side and cradle him carefully to a broad, strong chest. It was warm. And Ichigo’s size made him easy to curl into.

He took advantage of it.

After all, Omega or not, Ichigo had always been taller and broader than him, just able to see over the top of his head and bury a long, freckled nose in his unruly white hair without standing on tiptoe. So rolling his face into Ichigo’s collarbone, affectionately scenting the sides of that corded neck – it was easy. Conveniently placed, really. Toushiro sighed into the slow lethargy of encroaching slumber, nestling closer to his boyfriend.

For now, he was content, For now, he felt safe in Ichigo’s embrace, the strong spice of Ichigo’s Alpha scent comforting in a way he couldn’t explain.

He’d deal with the repercussions of being an Omega after he got some sleep.


	4. Spitfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Hitsugaya starts gradually destroying everyone and their stereotypes, one at a time.

He’d thought it would be painfully obvious to almost everyone he’d met. So obvious that judgement would immediately enter others’ eyes as soon as they smelled his scentblocker, as soon as he stepped into the office that day, as soon as he returned to observing his several Eighteenth and Fourteenth Seats train their new-recruit filled squads en masse under the direction of his Fourth Seat. But nobody had noticed. Nobody had done a double take of horror or lust or vicious amusement.

Somehow, everyone had just expected that he’d presented as an Alpha. And so nobody questioned anything. Nobody tried to take a closer look, to examine his scentblocker for flaws.

After the first, nerve-wracking day, it was almost freeing, in a way.

Even Ichigo’s behavior towards him hadn’t changed. Well, he was still overly affectionate and loved embarrassing Toushiro with a burning passion, but that had been the case even before either of them had presented. He’d been a goofy, over-romantic idiot starting back when he was still a Substitute Shinigami seeking comfort and solace following the Soul King’s death, Yamamoto’s fall, and the ruin of Seireitei at the hands of the Quincy King Yhwach. And Toushiro himself…well…

His temper was still as legendary as ever.

“What in the _hell_ was that?” he snarled, reiatsu boiling on his fingertips. One of his ten Eighteenth Seats stood shamefacedly in front of him, the Kido target they’d been aiming at with a simple Byakurai blown entirely apart, her face singed. She’d overpowered the simple Kido to the point that the first row of watching recruits had been pelted with fiery shrapnel. She bowed deeper.

“A mistake, sir,” she said quietly, twisting her fists in her hakama pants, her face red with upset. Toushiro could feel himself seethe.

“A mistake,” he repeated lowly, his voice a growl. His haori billowed gently in the breeze, at sharp odds with his jagged anger. “Six of your new recruits were hit with burning splinters of wood. And you call that a mistake.”

He could tell she was only one step away from bursting into tears, but he had to admire her control over herself, and so he fell silent for a moment, allowing her to catch her breath. Then an apologetic voice interjected, one of his Fourteenth Seats jogging up to intervene in the situation. Yamada Kenta was a genial man who had married into a very minor noble house, and a fantastic officer who had presented as an Alpha over forty-seven years ago.

“Ah, sir, please take it easy on Junko-chan. She’s been distressed recently,” he interceded with a low bow. Toushiro raised a thin white eyebrow, lips pressing together in a pale line, but he could tell that Yamada meant well.

“Is that so?” he replied coldly, tolerating the interruption. Yamada nodded, then straightened up and came a little closer, dropping his voice to an undertone.

“She recently was confirmed as a Beta by the Fourth Division, sir,” the man said quietly, and Takahashi Junko’s head dropped even further upon hearing what he was saying. “And she’s been taking it hard, that she’ll never develop an Alpha’s leadership instinct.”

Toushiro felt a chill of commiseration trickle down his spine, understanding turning his blood to ice. All chatter around him ceased, trailing off into nothing, and it took a moment for him to realize that he was allowing faint wisps of icy reiatsu to accentuate the vicious glare on his face. Each and every one of his subordinates took a surreptitious step away. Yamada stiffened slightly, wary of his captain’s legendary, tempestuous anger.

“Takahashi, is that true?” he asked, his tone remarkably even. There was a pregnant pause, and then the woman lifted her head slightly and nodded, trembling now. Hitsugaya tried not to snarl with sympathy.

“Look at me, Takahashi,” he commanded, gratified when she did so immediately. He allowed his infamous glare to soften, his reiatsu flickering back into the depths of his soul. “Do not, ever, overcompensate for a false shortcoming again. Your Kido was plenty powerful before you discovered your gender dynamic, and they will remain so regardless of your gender dynamic. Furthermore, I do not promote individuals without the natural ability to lead – regardless of their gender dynamic.”

Her expression changed, a strange incredulity crossing her face as she listened to what he was saying. Toushiro kept his face neutral.

“…But sir, I’m a Beta and-”

“Do I look like I give a flying fuck what your gender dynamic is?” he cut her off before she could finish the thought, eyes narrowing to thin slits of green. “You did an excellent job leading your squad up until you allowed this news to disrupt your concentration and confidence. As far as I’m concerned, that is your only fault here. You can lead effectively – I’d say it’s a natural talent. But you’ve allowed your self-confidence to be shaken, and now you feel like you’ve got something to prove, which led to you overpowering your Kido and the injury of six recruits.”

The realization was dawning on Takahashi’s face, but there was a distinct aura of disbelief starting to saturate the air, and Hitsugaya had to fight to ignore it. He kept his gaze steady.

“I do not expect anything less than your best, Takahashi,” he said evenly. “Your gender dynamic is not an excuse for you to suddenly be unable to lead your men or perform Kido. You are capable, and I will not have you thinking otherwise. Am I understood?”

She bowed deeply, the red upset starting to drain from her face, a more contemplative aura replacing it. And underlying it all was a tinge of warm gratitude and admiration.

Then Yamada spoke up again, his tone hesitant but slightly pointed, tinged with that distinct challenge always present when an Alpha noticed something he or she didn’t like. Hitsugaya felt his hackles rise, felt the threat acutely, and had to fight back a flinch. But he did it successfully, and the instinctive urge to cower away from the irritated Alpha blossomed into a bubbling well of defensive fury.

“…Taicho, if Junko-chan feels that it’s unwise for her to push herself-”

“That’s enough out of you,” Toushiro snapped coldly, rounding on his Fourteenth Seat with lightning and storm flashing in his eyes. “I know what she’s capable of, and I won’t have the stereotypes of a fucking _gender dynamic_ limit her.”

Yamada’s mouth snapped shut with a click. Everyone else stayed silent as well, perhaps sensing Hitsugaya’s temper. And then Yamada opened his mouth again, anger flashing briefly across his face.

“The stereotypes exist for a reason, sir,” Yamada said stiffly. “I mean, could you imagine the disaster that would ensue if there were Omegas in leadership positions? The Seireitei would go soft.”

Hitsugaya felt a chill of wrath entirely unfamiliar to him ripple down his spine. It was cold, viciously so, and tinged with a sadistic, murderous glee that seemed foreign and yet slid so _smoothly_ into his psyche. He had to struggle to keep his heartbeat steady, to keep his blood from turning to ice in his veins. He needed to stay calm. Giving into this strange, brutal rage would do him no good.

“…Yamada Hanatarou is a Third Seat and an Omega,” he said through gritted teeth, wrestling with the building bloodlust in his skull until it subsided. “And if my memory serves me correctly, three years ago he singlehandedly dispatched a Gillian that had nearly obliterated you and your entire squad, then transported you and all your men to safety and healed you.”

There were several sharp intakes of breath from various shinigami that were strewn across the training field. Yamada Kenta’s face drained of color. It was a low, brutal blow, and Hitsugaya knew it, but it was effective in utterly silencing the low hum of dissent that had rumbled into existence shortly after he’d vehemently rejected the excuse of gender dynamic to explain performance. Hitsugaya glared coldly at his Fourteenth Seat, weighing his options in his head. Then he decided.

It would be more useful to weed out the prejudiced ones now, before the truth of his gender dynamic came to light.

“Fourteenth Seat Yamada. If you take issue with _me_ choosing _my officers_ based on their merit, ability, and past performance rather than their gender dynamic, you are more than welcome to tender your resignation to me or Matsumoto by the end of the day. Otherwise, know your place and _keep your damn mouth shut_.”

For a moment, there was utter silence, shock stealing the breath of his listening subordinates. Yamada had blanched entirely, but whether it was with annoyance or terror Hitsugaya couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t particularly sure if he cared one way or the other anyhow. If Yamada – or anyone, really – decided that his methods were too offensive for them to work around, he’d be fine letting them leave. After all, he couldn’t have any sort of dissent in the ranks, and if he placed an Omega or a Beta in charge of a squad of Alphas then people had to understand that he wouldn’t tolerate harassment.

Especially harassment of Omegas, who only rarely fought back.

Perhaps he was slightly defensive, but as the thrill of fight-or-flight bloodlust stirred in his veins again, he had to wonder if it wasn’t warranted after all.

Finally, Yamada regained enough coherence to speak, and when he did it was with a defeated growl, the unmistakable snarl of an Alpha yielding to a stronger person. Toushiro blinked in slight surprise, the show of submission unexpected. Would this have turned out the same if his men knew his dynamic?

Probably not.

“I apologize for my behavior, sir. It won’t happen again.”

 Hitsugaya nodded coldly, then let the matter lie, stepping past Takahashi and Yamada to observe a few of his other unseated men and the officers in charge of them as work with their practice Kido. He wasn’t about to pursue the issue any further – doing so would only be counterproductive and make him look suspicious. And the longer he could put off revealing his gender dynamic, the more likely it was that people would accept it when he revealed it.

After all, if he could function and lead effectively as an Omega for several years – or at least several months – before people found out about it, that would be fantastic. It would prove that his gender dynamic had nothing to do with his capacity to lead. Power and skill would prove his worth where Alpha pheromones usually filled in. And just maybe some would start to realize the merit of ignoring gender dynamics when it came to competency.

So he watched patiently as the lower seated officers drilled their unseated men in basic Kido, running through each Hado and Bakudo up to number fifteen. All he had to do now was continue on as he’d always had and keep his gender dynamic hidden until the last possible moment.

Easier said than done.

But then again, he’d never cowered away from a challenge.


	5. Control Like Iron

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ichigo is a good boyfriend and there's a lot of misinformation about Omegas, apparently. Also Toushiro is, in fact, an Omega with some Omega instincts.

“Mmmf, that tickles!”

Orange fuzz kept grazing lightly over the skin on the underside of his jaw, making him squirm. But Ichigo was lying on top of him, gently but firmly gripping his wrists, and Toushiro couldn’t crane his head away any further. The tufts of soft traffic-cone color were a torment without a cure. He had to bite back laughter as Ichigo’s cut cheekbone rubbed against his scent gland again, following the trail of damp, Alpha-scented kisses that had just been put there a second ago.

“Can’t help it,” Ichigo replied unapologetically, pressing his nose to the crook of his Omega’s neck and inhaling deeply. “I wanna scent you. Is that okay?”

Toushiro bit his lip on the smile trying to glow through his icy walls, huffing instead, and tried to struggle feebly again, barely giving Ichigo a half-hearted headbutt. Ichigo whined at the resistance, a pouting whine, but didn’t move from his position laid out on Toushiro’s lean chest. The white-haired captain sighed with resignation, his back pressed deep into the sofa cushions, wrists gently pinned on either side of his white head.

“Of course it’s okay, you dolt. I’m taking a shower tomorrow morning anyway,” Hitsugaya groaned, allowing Ichigo to rub his strong, spicy-cinnamon-cedar scent all over. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he nosed into Ichigo’s hairline and began to do the same until the orange hair started to smell like peppermint and blood-orange citrus. Ichigo started crooning happily into the side of his throat, the low humming rumbling deep in his chest.

“I wish you always smelled like this,” Ichigo sighed then, still crooning. “It’s nice, smelling my own scent mixed into yours.”

Toushiro closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He knew precisely the mix of scents that Ichigo was talking about, and the gentle crooning combined with the affectionate scenting was enough to make him start crumbling. Ichigo made him want to curl up like a well-fed, happy kitten and snuggle, and while part of him ached for it, another part of him kept him from doing anything at all. Either way, however, he couldn’t deny being cozy and content, Ichigo’s body on top of his like a warm, though heavy, blanket.

Suddenly Ichigo pulled away, looming large over him on all fours. His brown eyes were practically sparkling. Toushiro went quiet, blinking up in confusion at Ichigo’s reaction. And then it hit him, and he went scarlet.

_He’d been…_

“You were purring,” Ichigo breathed. Toushiro tried to keep his head from exploding from the blood pressure of his intensifying blush.

“Yeah, well, you keep crooning at me and scenting me and cuddling and…dammit Ichigo, I _do_ have Omega instincts!” he snapped, ferociously embarrassed by the whole thing. “Omegas purr when they’re-”

“Happy and content, I know,” Ichigo finished his sentence unexpectedly, brown eyes still sparkling. Then the luster of stricken excitement faded, leaving a mature sort of tenderness plain on the carrot-top’s tanned face. “…I’m glad you’re feeling that way, Toushiro.”

Ichigo let his wrists go then, moving his large palms up to cup Toushiro’s currently-ruby cheeks, and leaned in. Toushiro’s nose wrinkled, and he couldn’t help smiling as Ichigo fluttered light little kisses all over his face. The shower of affection was a nice feeling, a little bit sillier than he usually allowed, but sweet all the same. The purr in the back of his throat started up again, a soft little motor buzzing off his tongue, but this time he didn’t try to stop it. Seeing Ichigo’s wide white smile beaming into the side of his throat was worth it.

Cuddling far into the evening wasn’t an option, however, and so after another fifteen minutes of thoroughly scenting each other, Toushiro gave Ichigo a sharp push. The Alpha got up with a frown, obviously not happy with the sudden lack of contact. It was kind of like watching a puppy sulking, Toushiro realized, trying to hide a snicker of amusement. 

“Did something happen in the Tenth today?” Ichigo asked then, cocking his head to the side in question. Toushiro smiled wistfully and shook his head with a sigh.

“No, nothing of interest, really,” he replied, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Everybody still expects that I’m an Alpha – nobody has even tried to suggest anything different.”

Ichigo raised an eyebrow, then shrugged.

“Well, you certainly don’t fit the textbook-Omega stereotype,” he commented neutrally. “For one, you’re a vicious little thing when you’re provoked.”

“Call me little one more time, and I’ll _be_ provoked, Kurosaki.”

“Case in point.”

Toushiro smoldered for a minute, growling his thready feral snarl, then rolled his eyes. Suddenly, he looked very uncomfortable.

“Actually, I’m fitting into it better than you think,” he worried aloud. Ichigo raised an orange eyebrow in askance. “The Omega stereotype, I mean.”

That seemed to pique Ichigo’s attention, and he leaned forward a little bit, crooning on autopilot. His eyebrows dropped low on his forehead, a wrinkle of concentration forming, and the faint, spicy scent of calming pheromones began to permeate the air around him.

“How so?”

Toushiro was loath to admit it, but the calming pheromones were definitely helping him focus on _what_ had happened with the strange surge of anger today, and not the more-concerning _why_. He swallowed hard.

“…Well, for one, your _damn pheromones_ are working on me right now,” he glared, and Ichigo ducked his head sheepishly. “And two…you said it yourself. I’m vicious when provoked. I felt it today, you know.”

Ichigo’s expression turned serious, but there was a hint of admiration somewhere deep in those brown eyes and not for the first time Toushiro had to remind himself that Ichigo wasn’t a pureblooded shinigami – there was Hollow, Quincy, and human in that mix somewhere, and the Hollow liked powerful things.

“Your fight-or-flight response triggered?”

Toushiro shook his head. Every Alpha, Beta, and Omega in Seireitei had a fight-or-flight response built into their gender dynamic – Alphas usually fought, Betas usually ran or fought via guerilla tactics, and Omegas usually either ran or froze up.

“No, the step beyond that. I felt positively murderous, for _no reason_ , Ichigo. And that kind of bloodlust – it’s frightening. Isn’t that ridiculous, that I’m scared of my own instincts? And so very Omega, too…”

It was probably the only reason that Omegas weren’t actually considered second-class citizens, Hitsugaya mused bitterly. They were exceedingly hard to provoke, on average, but once Feral they were more vicious than territorial Alphas, and in a few very notable cases, had torn their attackers limb-from-limb with pure adrenaline strength. Of course, those incidents were sparse – only two in the past thousand years – but they carried enough weight that even today, Omegas displaying strong, pointed upset would be besieged with calming Alpha pheromones.

“…you felt Feral.”

There was only mild curiosity on Ichigo’s face, a kind of silent question hidden in the deep brown of his eyes. The smattering of freckles across his nose wrinkled as he scrunched his brows together.

“…yeah, I did.”

“…and you controlled it.”

Toushiro blinked. For a moment, there wasn’t any air in the room, and he stared stupidly at his Alpha with incomprehension. Ichigo tapped a finger aimlessly against the sofa.

“You didn’t let it overtake your conscious thought the way the books say it does,” he clarified. Toushiro mulled that over for a minute, realizing belatedly that Ichigo was right. He’d felt the bloodlust, the murderous glee creeping through him, the hum of adrenaline flooding his veins. And yet he’d wrestled it into submission. That wasn’t possible, according to everything he’d been taught about gender dynamics. Omegas were guided by their hormones and controlling an emotional response to _anything_ was impossible for them.

And yet he’d done it.

Suddenly he felt much, much lighter, and Ichigo seemed to understand that Toushiro’s mind had made the connection. He grinned, sliding his calloused fingers between his boyfriend’s more-slender digits.

“See? Not very stereotypical-Omega at all,” he said, “And even if you do fit the stereotype, there’s nothing wrong with that, you know. You’re still Toushiro.”

Hitsugaya let his lips curl up in a fond, if exasperated, smile. Ichigo’s palm was warm around his own, and he leaned back into the touch, head falling back onto Ichigo’s broad shoulder. Then, a very nasty, very devious thought occurred to him. His smile curdled into a vicious smirk.

“Ichigo?”

“Yeah?”

“…use your command pheromones on me,” he said, grinning. “If I can control turning Feral, I want to be able to refuse an Alpha’s command should that ever be necessary.”

Ichigo’s grip tightened on his shoulders. There was a soft, wet sound like a bubble popping as the Third Division Captain swallowed hard. He let out a low growl, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Toushiro steeled himself.

“…Alright, let’s do it.”


	6. High Tolerance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UGH. EVERYONE IN MY DISCORD WRITES ANGST.  
> So here - the result of my self-indulgence. Have some tooth-rotting fluff and Stubborn!Shiro-chan :)  
> Maybe some soft smut soon, but I'VE NEVER POSTED A LEMON BEFORE GAHHHHHH.

Command pheromones were _intoxicating,_ and he _hated_ them with all his heart.

“Toushiro, are you okay?”

He buried his face in his hands, trying to ignore the whining urge lurking behind his teeth. Ichigo was right next to him, brow furrowed in concentration, thick spiced-cedar and cinnamon polluting the air with a strong directive. Hitsugaya locked onto his voice, focusing on it so narrowly that the rest of the background noise seemed to fade into nothing. He could feel his heart racing in chest, the thud of his pulse pounding in his ears.

“…y-yeah,” he wheezed, trying just to breathe. It was their fifth practice session trying to build Toushiro’s immunity to command pheromones, and it was finally time for an endurance test.

So far his most notable feat was managing to refuse an order with Ichigo’s pheromones at full-concentrate – so thick that even a Beta would feel a compulsion to act. He’d only managed that yesterday, however, and the effort had left him drawn and trembling, body collapsing into Ichigo’s in exhaustion. Ichigo had been incredibly proud. He’d even – very clumsily, but it was cute – pulled a bunch of blankets and pillows from the cabinet and arranged them in a messy nest on Toushiro’s bed.

They’d fallen asleep tangled around each other in that messy – awful, actually, but it was the thought that counted – nest, and Toushiro had managed to wake up feeling revitalized enough to even fix the nest. And good thing too. It was taking every shred of concentration and willpower to stay where he was.

“Alright, then one more time, okay? Toushiro, go touch the doorknob.”

He was almost on his feet before he knew what was happening, and he choked halfway through standing up, knees locking. He fell back onto the couch, gasping for air, the compulsive urge to _obey_ fought viciously back. Ichigo paused, letting him catch his breath for a minute. Toushiro was grateful for that. Every cell in his body ached with guilt and pain and the burning itch to give in, and he needed a break.

“That’s thirty refusals now – you’re doing fantastic. Ready to go full concentrate?”

Full-concentrate – the same thing that had nearly snapped him yesterday. Toushiro whimpered without thinking much about it, the ordeal tugging at some deeply buried part of him and _hurting_ much more than he’d like to admit. Almost instantly Ichigo’s demeanor changed, from patient and supportive to outright worry and fretful Alpha concern.

“Hey easy, love,” he soothed, lacing his fingers through Toushiro’s white hair and stroking gently. “It’s okay if you can’t take anything more right now. You’re already incredible – there’s no need to push it past your limit.”

Toushiro sucked in a breathy gasp, relaxing slightly into the feeling of Ichigo’s fingers in his fluffy hair, then shook his head.

“No- No, I can do it,” he breathed, sweat beading on his forehead. “At…at least one.”

Ichigo regarded him for a long, long minute, a protective sort of anxiety sending prickles of suspicion down Toushiro’s spine. A soft dread settled into the pit of his stomach like nausea, or Matsumoto’s cooking. And then the hybrid captain spoke, his voice strangled.

“…Every instinct in my body is screaming to not do this, you know,” he forced out, teeth gritted now. It was obvious that he too was fighting off that inner urge to coddle and protect and shelter, triggered by Toushiro’s obvious strain. “But I respect you so I’ll…I’ll do one at full-concentrate. If you get through it without collapsing on me like yesterday, then and only then will I do another. I don’t know if I can take it otherwise.”

Toushiro tried to process that. One at full concentrate. Okay.

“…is fair.”

The scent hit him like a Hollow’s tail to the chest, walloping him far into clouds of distorted reality. Ichigo’s face seemed to glow, the only sound audible the sound of his Alpha’s breathing, the only sight worth looking at his Alpha’s face. Nothing else mattered. Ichigo was looking at him. His Alpha was looking straight at him, his expression so soft.

“Toushiro, could you get me that blanket?”

He pointed. It made sense – that was one of the softest blankets they owned. Toushiro reached for it, happy that he could do something so small to make his Alpha happy.

He caught himself just as his fingers touched the material, freezing up like a statue. Something was wrong. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this. But it was making Ichigo happy. Why wouldn’t he make his Alpha happy? Well, why couldn’t Ichigo get the blanket himself? His head pounded, the pause enough to send spikes of pain through his head. Everything smelled like Ichigo, warm and comforting like cinnamon and cedar.

It hurt to say no. It hurt to refuse. His Alpha had commanded him – why wouldn’t he do something so simple? So small? Ichigo had just been asking for a blanket? Why was he fighting it so hard? His stomach lurched horribly, and he had his answer. Ichigo wouldn’t hurt him. He never had before – not unless they were sparring. But refusing hurt. So it was wrong. But Ichigo wouldn’t hurt him.

God, he would _not_ touch that blanket.

He was barely aware of slumping forward onto the couch, trembling, every nerve in his body on fire, but the blanket stayed where it was, still perfectly folded. But he was gasping for breath, the fog clouding his thoughts only just cut through, only just barely pushed aside. Exhaustion dragged at his eyelids.

Then he felt Ichigo’s hands slide beneath his body, lifting him easily, and the intoxicating rush of the command pheromones faded into nothing, replaced by notes of reassurance and concern. Instantly the fog clouding his thoughts began to dissipate, information about the outside world starting to seep in past the haze of Ichigo’s touch and scent and appearance. Warmth engulfed him whole, and he settled into his Alpha’s lap with a weak whimper. Ichigo started crooning, the deep vibrations and humming buzzing pleasantly beneath Toushiro’s ear.

“…you’re so beautiful, babe. So beautiful, so determined, so strong…”

He could hear Ichigo whispering praise into the outer shell of his ear, the words relieving the pounding headache that was starting to gradually lessen behind his eyes. It was nice. Quiet too, like Ichigo was well aware of his headache and need for silence. Maybe he was aware of the headache.

Shit, that had taken a lot out of him. Even Hyourinmaru wasn’t speaking.

The hand that was around his shoulders moved into his hair, and he tried to let out a little purr for Ichigo’s sake at the comforting familiarity of that touch. It came out faint, a sputtering sound at the back of his throat. The scent of concern and comfort thickened. Ichigo started rocking back and forth, still clutching Toushiro close. The crooning didn’t stop, a deep, rumbling vibration that spread drowsy warmth throughout Hitsugaya’s slim body.

“…I’m putting you in your nest. And then I’m stuffing you with food, and you’re going to sleep. Okay?”

The soft comment simmered for a moment, and then he was lifted, still cradled close to Ichigo’s heartbeat. Toushiro sighed, too drained to protest being carried as he usually would. Ichigo ran upstairs with him, settling him in on one side of the nest, tucking him into the pillows and blankets piled neatly on the bed. Toushiro relaxed in the tangle of calming scent, Matsumoto’s and Hinamori’s and Ichigo’s all blending together wonderfully.

There was a touch on his face, a large hand cradling one cheek, and he realized that he’d drifted off for a minute. His eyes blinked sleepily open to see Ichigo hovering over him with a snack bar of some kind in his hand.

“Hey, Toushiro, can you eat this for me?”

Too tired to argue or even move, Toushiro let Ichigo hand-feed him the fruit bar. Then the Alpha lay down beside him in his nest, crooning softly, and carefully pulled him into a warm embrace. Toushiro sighed, already dozing. Ichigo’s body was warm against his back, the soft cloth of his yukata tangled securely between their entwined legs.

“…Mmm…love you,” he mumbled, barely noticing when his eyes slid shut. Ichigo flinched a little bit at those words, his heartbeat ticking a pace faster in his chest. Toushiro smiled faintly, drifting off to the sound of his boyfriend’s heartbeat.

“…Love you too, Toushiro.”


	7. Devil in Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hitsugaya is a manipulative little shit, and finally uses his Omega status to his advantage. 
> 
> It both scares and amuses his Alpha.

“So, did you want to go out to eat tonight, Toushiro?”

Hitsugaya looked from the stacked packets of paper on his desk, green eyes flat with exasperation. He flicked a wrist at the mess on his desk, glaring petulantly at the Alpha practically begging for his attention, sprawled across the couch. Ichigo was bothering him again, the benign kind of bothering that Hitsugaya usually didn’t mind all that much. Unfortunately, today he was slightly stressed out the amount of casualty reports he had stacked up. One of his seated officers had ignored direct orders, engaged an Adjuchas, and had nearly gotten an entire squad killed. The only reason the man hadn’t been kicked out of the Tenth was that nobody had died, but he’d still be stripped of his rank and thrown in prison.

Overall, the whole debacle had been highly unpleasant

“I told you, Ichigo, I doubt I’ll be finished in time for that,” he sighed wearily, using his chop to mark his name and seal on yet another medical leave form issued to him by the Kotetsu sisters in the Fourth. “You know what I’m dealing with right now.”

Ichigo blinked, his cheeks and forehead a healthy strawberry color, and shifted a little, still sitting upside down on the couch in Hitsugaya’s office. He stuck his lower lip out, clearly pouting or at least faking a pronounced pout, then sighed, and sat upright, his haori wrinkling as he did so. Sympathy tinged by a hint of incomprehension swirled in that rich chocolate gaze of his.

“I do,” he confirmed. “What I don’t understand is why you’re not passing it off to Rangiku-san. Isn’t most of that her job anyway?”

Toushiro glared at him, a bit put out by the comment.

“Ichigo, we can’t all have lieutenants as diligent as Kira-fukutaicho, you know,” he huffed irritably, flicking through another casualty report and the officer’s arrest record. An Alpha with too big an ego. Of course this wasn’t his first incident of insubordination. Ichigo groaned, then stood up and marched across the room, aggravation clear in his gaze. Large, tanned palms thumped firmly down on the oak desk.

“I can smell your stress through your scentblocker, love,” he hissed, keeping his voice low. “And it’s making me antsy.”

Oh.

Toushiro put down his brush slowly, setting his chop to the side as well. No wonder Ichigo was being so persistent. He bit his lower lip, chewing anxiously.

“…you can smell it through…?”

“I basically live with you now that I’m actually living in Seireitei – I’m intimately familiar with your scent, Toushiro,” Ichigo reassured. “I doubt anyone but me can tell the difference. Maybe Matsumoto, if you were any more upset, but-”

Toushiro felt his brain activity flatline, all his attention focusing in on one singular point. The gears in his brain starting churning with devilry, and he smirked with wicked mirth. Ichigo paused, seeing that he wasn’t listening, then cocked his head to the side in askance.

“…Toushiro?”

“…Ichigo, go find Matsumoto, tell her I’ve very, very forcefully kicked you out of my office, and can she please help you appease my temper?”

The Third Division Captain stared at the smirk on his boyfriend’s face, something like a chill running down his spine, and swallowed hard. He knew that look, and it scared him the same way Urahara’s excitement or Unohana’s kindness scared people.

“You’re planning something.”

Toushiro laughed, the sound slightly gleeful, and watched with a grin as Ichigo flinched visibly, some kind of terror grasping at his soul.

“When aren’t I planning things?” he asked primly, knowing the question was entirely rhetorical. “Go on.”

Ichigo stared for another minute, then high-tailed it out of the office at top speed, leaving his Omega giggling wickedly behind him. The less he knew about Hitsugaya’s devilry, the better.

 

* * *

 

When Ichigo tiptoed back to the office, a resigned but fully understanding Matsumoto in his wake, he was surprised to find Hitsugaya still slaving away over the papers, focusing on his work with laserlike intensity. It had only been ten or so minutes since he’d shot out of the office with his metaphorical tail between his legs – not nearly enough time for the young genius to set up any complicated machinations, but he had at least expected some kind of movement.

Instead, it didn’t seem like Hitsugaya had moved at all.

Carefully, he eased the door fully open and stepped in, Matsumoto trailing him. Hitsugaya’s concentration wavered. He stiffened, baring his teeth as if in anger, but didn’t look up from the papers.

“Go _away_ , I’m trying to focus,” he snarled. The faint scent of Hitsugaya’s distress pheromones was a little more palpable, a little less hidden by his minty scentblocker. But the difference was tiny, barely noticeable if someone didn’t know all the many variations of the ice captain’s sweet peppermint-citrus scent. Ichigo quietly stepped a little closer, trying to keep his urge to comfort firmly under control. The irritation was fake, but he only knew that since he knew his boyfriend’s plotting wheels were screeching along at a million kilometers an hour.

“…I didn’t mean to bother you, earlier. I just wanted to take you out tonight,” he tried, wondering if that would be a decent opener for whatever plot Hitsugaya was concocting. Toushiro twitched slightly at the apology. Some of the false irritation appeared to flicker out. Alright, that probably meant it was a step in the right direction, then. Right?

And then Matsumoto stiffened behind him, a sharp inhale telling him everything he needed to know, and without saying a word she sidled out from his shadow and marched over to her captain’s desk, bouncing cheerfully.

“Aw, taicho, don’t be such a grumpy-pants!” she bubbled. Understanding struck a bolt of lightning to his core as Ichigo spotted her discreetly sliding the top stack of papers off her captain’s wide desk. She turned around, winking at Ichigo even as Toushiro lifted his face to protest her interference, his faintly-discernable distress wafting in the air around him.

“Ichigo-taicho, I’ll take care of this for a little bit – why don’t you head back to your division? I’ll send a Hell Butterfly when Taicho isn’t being quite so disagreeable.”

Ichigo nodded, biting his tongue to keep silent, and left the room to the sound of Matsumoto’s bubbly cheerfulness and the sound of her actually sitting down in her disused desk chair. He only let himself start laughing once he was safely back in his own Division, the glee he knew Hitsugaya had finally hitting him as well. Izuru gave him a strange look as he flopped down on the chair in his office, laughing breathlessly.

The little sneak. He’d purposefully lured Matsumoto in and then manipulated her Alpha instincts by releasing stress hormones!

“Kurosaki-taicho, what’s so funny?”

Ichigo looked up at his nonplussed lieutenant, unable to stop grinning like a loon, and waved a hand.

“Ah- oh my god- don’t worry about it, Izuru,” he snorted, rubbing at his watering eyes. “Toushiro’s just- a _devil_ , I can’t-”

Kira stared at him for several long seconds, incomprehension plain on his face, before nodding and agreeing far, far too readily for him to actually believe for even a second that _Hitsugaya Toushiro_ , the terrifying ice-captain, had made someone laugh. Ichigo ignored him, far, far too caught up in his laughter even as the reality of the situation dawned on him.

It was almost terrifying. Hitsugaya had so easily manipulated his second by just releasing a hint of distressed Omega scent, barely noticeable through his scentblocker. And she’d fallen for it hook, line and sinker _despite_ knowing that he was an Omega. What kind of havoc would he be able to wreak on unsuspecting Alphas? And since almost every officer in Seireitei was an Alpha, he could theoretically have the entirety of Seireitei wrapped around his little finger with no effort. Ichigo couldn’t help but laugh even harder at the thought.

People who thought that Omegas were weak and timid had obviously never met his boyfriend.


	8. Baby, Hold My Flower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hitsugaya is a dangerous little thing when provoked, and oh, if it doesn't just make Ichigo fall in love all the more.  
> Also known as - how to piss off an ice dragon.

“I don’t know Ichigo, I’m not sure I like the look of that.”

Ichigo contemplated the quilt he was holding, the Rukongai shop attendants glancing back and forth between the pair of captains with some awe, apparently recognizing them as shinigami despite their off-duty yukata. The quilt was a decent size, he knew, and plenty fluffy. But…to be fair, the fringe was a bit much.

“It’s really fluffy though!” he complained, holding out the material for Toushiro to touch. The ice-wielder rolled his eyes and complied, rubbing his thin fingers across the material. Then his brow twisted, lips pursing in mild irritation. Ichigo grinned, recognizing his Omega’s wavering resolve now that he had felt how soft it was. White eyebrows dipped low, storm brewing in the emerald glance, a petulant scowl starting to cross Hitsugaya’s carved face.

“…I hate the fringe,” the ice-wielder snarled, but he stuffed the quilt into the basket Ichigo was holding nonetheless, and the Third Division Captain had to hide his grin.

It was Saturday, just around midday, and it had been Toushiro’s idea that they go out shopping for some new things for his house. Ichigo had been living separately from his boyfriend since he’d moved into Seireitei, but they were finally ready to move in together. However, he still hadn’t managed to add many of his own personal touches to Hitsugaya’s house aside from the drawer of his clothes in the dresser. So, now he was buying stuff. And if Toushiro picked up on the fact that he was buying probably twice the number of blankets and pillows than was necessary, well, then the slender Omega wasn’t protesting.

“Really? I think it’s the perfect kind of tacky,” Ichigo said, elbowing his lover in the side as he paid for their purchases, humming under his breath. Hitsugaya shot him a flat look.

“Tacky.”

“Yeah, you know – a touch of cute kitschy something.”

“I swear by the Soul King, Ichigo-”

“It’s also far too soft to pass up.”

“…I won’t argue with that one.”

The shop attendants waved them enthusiastically out as they left, walking hand-in-hand down the streets. They were in Junrinan, Hitsugaya’s old home district, but for the most part it looked as if Hitsugaya hadn’t been recognized. It was understandable. Since his Grandmother’s peaceful passing several years ago, his growth spurt and the jaded wisdom of loss and battle had touched him, he had changed.

He was still Toushiro, of course. Just older; more mature, if that was possible. And far, far wiser.

They stopped by a stall selling dango to get a snack on their way home, Toushiro rather enthusiastically shoving a stick of the sweet treats in Ichigo’s face when the taller man leaned down to try and plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Ichigo pouted, throwing his shorter boyfriend a reproachful look from behind a mouthful of sticky sweetness. The dango vendor had to muffle a chuckle with a forced cough, as did the older couple behind them. Ichigo finished off the stick of dango Hitsugaya had shoved in his face, watching the white-haired captain munch on his own snack with a smile.

“What, no kisses today?”

“No sloppy gross ones.”

Ichigo couldn’t muffle his laughter quick enough, and Hitsugaya threw him an annoyed glance only to see the stupid smile and melt so quickly it was difficult to tell he’d ever been irritated. The ice-wielder huffed, cheeks turning pink, but he leaned up and put a quick peck on the side of Ichigo’s cut jaw.

They had almost reached Seireitei’s border when they heard a sobbing wail and a furious roar. Both shinigami whirled around instantly, tensing up, only to see a petite woman with soft, doe-like brown eyes and black hair crumpled into a ball in the street, her yukata torn. Standing above her was a lean, whippetlike man with high cheekbones and fair skin, reeking Alpha fury. The air started to tingle with the sour scent of Omega distress, fear thick in the atmosphere.

The Alpha’s searing-hot anger felt like hot pepper. Toushiro’s complexion started to pale slightly. Ichigo put a hand on his shoulder without thinking.

“You useless _bitch_!” the man screamed, his cheeks flushed red, though from this distance it was difficult to tell whether the flush was alcohol or anger. “How dare you refuse me!”

The trembling woman on the ground wasn’t moving, staring with wide eyes and a trembling lower lip, but as the man approached she pressed her legs together and scooted away, still shaking like a leaf. Everyone else on the street watched, some in horror, others with anger, but nobody moved to do anything. Several even wrinkled their noses at the pungent scents of distress and anger mixed together, turning away haughtily.

Too late, Ichigo realized that Toushiro’s skin wasn’t just growing pale. It was growing cold. He wasn’t frightened by the incensed Alpha pheromones.

He was infuriated by the Omega’s distress.

Ichigo gave his boyfriend’s shoulder a squeeze then let go and set his jaw.

“Do you want the guy or the girl?” he murmured softly. Toushiro’s head whipped up. Then he smiled, but there was no kindness in that cruel expression. In his chest, Zangetsu purred at the sight, the dark-tinged flare of wildness in the Hollow-Zanpakutou instantly seduced by the malice. Ichigo felt the wind driven from his lungs.

“Guy.”

Ichigo nodded breathlessly, and they stepped forward. Toushiro walked calmly between the crumpled Omega woman and the Alpha growling over her, tucking his hands into his yukata sleeves to hide the slight tension of his hands at the angered Alpha scent. His glare was icy. And utterly gorgeous. But Ichigo forced himself to kneel down next to the terrified woman, hands out, his palms up nonthreateningly. He smiled at her.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked carefully, softening as she turned huge, teary eyes on him. “Is it okay if I use calming pheromones on you?”

She stiffened at that, looking completely startled by his question, then nodded hesitantly and watched miserably as he rubbed at the scentblocker on his wrists with a wipe. Around him on the street, the same people who’d stopped dead to watch and cringe blinked in shock at his question, even as the smoky scent of calming pheromones hit the air. The infuriated Alpha standing confusedly in front of the still-silent Hitsugaya suddenly bared his teeth.

“That’s _my_ Omega!”

Hitsugaya’s hand shot out, knuckles going white on the man’s wrist. The creak of flexing bone was audible. Toushiro smiled unpleasantly at the man.

“I’m sorry, but I have a bit of a problem with how you’re treating this woman,” he said calmly. But the man’s wince and his instinctive curl towards the wrist betrayed just how close Toushiro was to breaking the man’s hand. His head turned, revealing absolute merciless fury in the jade glare. “You seem to think that she’s required to bend to your whims.”

The sallow-skinned man growled, but the noise came out weak and nervous, thinned by pain. Hitsugaya’s dark fury curdled into a strange kind of sadism, and the smile on his face turned positively vicious. He laughed a little bit.

“I didn’t catch that,” Toushiro drawled. A soft cloud of frosted mist puffed from his lips. “Would you like to repeat yourself?”

 The Rukongai resident quailed at the sight, ice starting to slick through Hitsugaya’s soft white hair, turning the sexy mess into dangerous, wild spikes. Ichigo had to focus hard to keep his attention on the woman he was cradling protectively in one arm. She clung to him now, still crying and trembling, but clearly trying to take shelter in his arms.

“I said,” the man said, jutting out his lower lip in an effort to look tough. “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? I’m the richest man in Junrinan, Mikisugi Aoba!”

The light of battle lit in Hitsugaya’s eyes. Sudden wisps of cold air crackled off his skin, frost spreading across the ground from his feet.

“Oh, really? That must be nice.” Toushiro’s voice was sly and cold, utterly arctic in temperament. Rage teetered perilously in the atmosphere. “But I think you must be a little confused at the moment – no _pathetic scrap of trash_ like you would ever _dare_ speak to a Captain of the Gotei 13 so rudely.”

There was a long silence, and Ichigo then stood up carefully, picking up the petite Omega woman as he did so, an exaggerated frown on his face. The residents of Rukongai around the scene seemed to understand the gravity of the situation now, and honestly, Ichigo was shocked it had taken them so long to realize Hitsugaya’s power. Then he realized something, and forced his frown to turn into something like a pout.

“Oi, Toushiro, I’m here too. That’s two captains, not just one.”

“This moron was talking to me, Ichigo, not you.”

“You always get to have all the fun.”

“Oh, don’t you start whining at me, you asked which I’d rather take, and I wanted to bury someone today.”

“I’ll tell Kyoraku you’re getting all vicious and murdery again if you kill the guy. Break his wrist and let him cry it out – we need to get this sweetheart somewhere safe.”

Hitsugaya whirled around, casually snapping the man’s wrist as he did so, and let go, ignoring the howl of pain behind him. His jade glare was bubbling, but the rage was slowly turning to incredulity tinged with mirth.

“Me? Getting ‘murdery’? That’s not even a word, Ichigo.”

“Captains’ privilege – It’s a word because I said so.”

“That- That is entirely _not_ how that works.”

“I say it does, so it does.”

“I swear to _god,_ you are the most infuriating man I have ever met.”

Ichigo couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face at the sheer exasperated fondness now etched into every line of Toushiro’s gilded face. His dark, frigid anger of just a few moments prior had fully vanished, like dew on a hot morning. Toushiro’s mouth twitched, unwillingly, curling on one side. Then the icy Omega whirled around, undoubtedly to hide a blush or a smile.

“Come on, let’s take her to safety.”


	9. Hesitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of self-doubt. A direct follow up from the previous chapter.  
> Also the boys finally move in with each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if' I've already mentioned this or not, but I and a few of my friends are hosting a Bleach Big Bang! If you're interested in joining us, even just to watch and offer encouragement along the way, you can find us at http://bleachbigbang.tumblr.com/  
> We're also hosting mini events, called Bings, with a 1k word minimum and a 15 min sketch minimum, if you'd like to participate somehow but can't make the seven-month, 15k word commitment to the Bang!  
> Please join us - Signups close Dec 5th, and we'd love to have you! :D

After dropping the petite woman off the next district over, with a relative of hers she’d mentioned in a small voice, Toushiro and Ichigo went back to the Third Division, where Ichigo had been cleaning up Otorobashi’s old apartment and boxing up the last of the man’s things. The older Vizard had happily moved into the Shinou Academy as an instructor shortly after recommending that Ichigo take his place, but several of his guitars were still gathering dust in the Third Division Captain’s quarters. So it had fallen to Ichigo to move them out

Toushiro stepped gingerly over a rolled-up carpet, following Ichigo into one of the bedrooms, where his boyfriend had been keeping several spare sets of clothes and his personal effects, the things from the human world that Urahara had converted to reishi for him.

“Are you sure you’re ready to move in with me completely, Ichigo?” he asked suddenly, anxiety flaring over allowing an Alpha to live with him permanently. Mocha eyes flicked back over a russet-clad shoulder, hair like honey in the low motes of afternoon light.

“Only if you’re ready to let me live with you,” Ichigo answered honestly. “I know we both want this, but I also know that you’ve been thrown by presenting as an Omega. Hell, I’ve been thrown by the whole concept of gender dynamics, let alone presenting as an Alpha. If you’re not ready for it, we don’t have to do this yet.”

Before he even knew what was happening there was a tug on his gut, a pang of panic flashing briefly through him and he bit his tongue on a whimper as he lunged forward, wrapping arms around Ichigo’s shoulders desperately. Ichigo made a small noise of surprise, a puff of dust rising from the carpet as he fell heavily onto his rear. But he caught the smaller man easily, hands gripping gently around the narrowest part of his Omega’s thin waist and settled on the ground with Toushiro shivering in his arms.

“…Ichigo, I hate this,” he whispered. “I…I hate _needing_ anything like this.”

Ichigo’s hands felt warm on his waist and back, even through the fabric of his yukata, and he hated the conflict boiling in him. The conflict that made him hate the fact that he loved Ichigo’s touch and scent and voice.

If he hadn’t presented as an Omega, he knew this conflict wouldn’t exist inside his head. This lingering confusion that made him question whether or not his affection was instinct or choice – it wouldn’t exist. He wouldn’t be able to blame his feelings on his Omega nature, wouldn’t have to question whether or not he truly felt this way. And yet, some part of him knew this reluctance was ridiculous.

Even before he’d presented, he’d loved Ichigo. He’d trusted Ichigo – to have his back, with the fragile emotions he’d been gradually developing, with his soft inner self. Presenting as an Omega, having Ichigo with him through the duration of his first heat – that hadn’t changed his feelings.

The only thing that had shifted was how Toushiro was thinking about the situation.

“…Toushiro, I-I don’t quite know what you mean?” Ichigo stammered finally. The dust in the room muted the strong bite of his lemon blocker, but his hands kept stroking up and down Toushiro’s back and sides, petting him gently, and his chin rested on top of the white mess that was Toushiro’s hair. The ice captain shrugged faintly, curling closer to the man he’d thrown his arms around.

“…I don’t really know either,” he sighed, exhaling into the collar of Ichigo’s yukata. He felt bad, guilt settling like a stone in the pit of his stomach. “I guess…I want to be sure that I… _I’m_ the one who needs you and not…not this new side of me taking over.”

He felt Ichigo stiffen suddenly underneath his hands and he laughed weakly, the guilt starting to fester. Suddenly the floor beneath him felt hard, the tatami mats biting deep into his knees through his hakama. The urge to curl up under a blanket and hide his face from the entire world bit deep. This was stupid. _He_ was stupid. He’d loved Ichigo before this whole presentation mess had hammered a wedge between his mind and his body. Being an Omega didn’t change that.

But he- he felt so safe near Ichigo now. Felt protected – a strange emotion he was unused to. And Ichigo had power over him – biological power that he _chose_ not to use. That in itself should have been frightening, and yet, all he could do was crave the man’s presence, curl into his strong body, and want the closeness to go on forever.

“Oh, love, I think that quick brain of yours is working against you.”

Ichigo’s voice was calm, slightly contemplative as he mused over the murmured sigh into his collarbone. Kind.

“...Don’t patronize me, Ichigo. I know what you’ll say.”

That the Omega part of him was part of him, and therefore the feelings were genuine. Or that his Omega presentation hadn’t changed what he’d felt prior to presenting. Both easy. Both made sense and yet-

“I don’t mean to tell you something you already know – it’s just that I’m a touch slower than you. So for me, this makes sense, because that Omega we helped today? I wanted to protect her, yes. But I didn’t want to hold her or kiss her the way I like kissing and holding you. You’re not just an Omega to me, you’re Toushiro. But you’re always thinking at a million kilometers a second, so you’ve probably already started picking your decisions apart much further than I ever will. And…I dunno. I think that works against you sometimes.”

Toushiro lifted his face from Ichigo’s scent gland, the cinnamon-and-cedar aroma hidden by fresh lemon blocker. The traffic-cone hair was tinged gold in the low sunlight, and his smile was cool in the shadow of his face. Ichigo was right, and Hitsugaya knew that he hadn’t meant to be patronizing. Ichigo wasn’t like that.

He sat up, hands sliding down to Ichigo’s broad shoulders, drawing away to hold the Third Division Captain at arms’ length. The air was clear of scent aside from the musty rancor of an empty building. There was no way Ichigo’s scent could cloud his thoughts. There was nothing that could be used to trigger the Omega inside him.

“…I don’t feel this towards Rangiku or Hinamori, or any of the other Alphas or Betas I know,” he began slowly. “Just you. I feel…feel safer when I’m with you. I trust you.  I mean…I trust them too, just not…not the same way.”

Ichigo nodded in understanding, never once breaking eye contact. His hands came up to cradle Toushiro’s cheeks, the callouses from wielding Zangetsu stiff against the soft tinge of barely-present stubble at the corners of Toushiro’s cut jawline. Hitsugaya felt the tension suddenly leave him, seeping slowly down his spine and into the dusty floor. A thready hum left his lips, turning quickly into a soft chuckle.

“I’m an idiot,” he sighed, closing his eyes and leaning into Ichigo’s touch. “It’s you, not Alpha-you.”

His bangs were brushed to the side, a spot of warmth pressed to his brow as Ichigo kissed his forehead. It tickled faintly, sending a flush of giddy heat through his face.

“Never thought I’d see the day when you’d call yourself an idiot.”

Toushiro groaned, then pulled his face from his boyfriend’s hands and glared at the moron sitting across from him.

“…Did you _really_ have to ruin the moment like that?”

“I’m teasing, love. Now, do you still want me to move my things to your house?”

“No shit. You better not make a mess of it like usual though.”

“Hey, I didn’t make a mess of moving in _here_. That was Hat-n-Clogs’ weird converter machine exploding half of my Senkaimon!”

Toushiro stood up, shoving several of Ichigo’s unpacked boxes into the hybrid shinigami’s face, growling lowly. Ichigo fell backward, his shoulderblades hitting the floor with a loud thump as he caught the boxes, then bounded back up.

“I still had to clean up after you! Do you even _realize_ how much Kyoraku blames me for your shenanigans?”

“Well, I mean, you _are_ the reason I moved here and took Otorobashi’s captaincy in the first place, so-”

“Ichigo, I _swear_ you’re sleeping on the couch if you _dare_ insinuate I’m responsible for your messes.”

Ichigo laughed, rolling to his feet, the boxes lifted securely in his arms. He hadn’t brought much with him to Seireitei when he’d made the permanent move and arranged his body’s death with Urahara, correctly assuming that he’d be living with Toushiro and thus wouldn’t need much furniture. So really, all Toushiro had to carry was the bag of Ichigo’s clothing and perhaps one last box. It was a convenient arrangement for them both.

 “Alright, I’ll shut up. I’m not risking _that_ on the first night in our house.”

Toushiro pulled the last of Ichigo’s things into his arms, huffing, but the phrase _‘our house’_ had been enough to turn his ears red and send a blush spiraling over his cheeks. He contented himself with an irritable, probably embarrassed, scowl instead, words temporarily freezing to his tongue as they set off towards their – now shared – home.

In a rare bout of unusual self-control, Ichigo held off from teasing for the rest of the way home, regardless of how red his shorter boyfriend’s cheeks were turning. Toushiro could hear him biting his tongue on the laughter, but no words passed his lips. For that small kindness, Ichigo was spared from sleeping on the couch that night. Toushiro didn’t have the heart to ban the dorky Alpha from his – _their_ – bed anyway. Not with those brown eyes on him, smoldering softly, Ichigo’s scent wafting comfortingly in their house.

The rest of the afternoon was spent slotting Ichigo’s things carefully amid Toushiro’s. The collection of Shakespeare novels were shelved beside Toushiro’s translations of Lao Tzu, Plato, and, rather incongruously, his volumes of the Shannara Chronicles. His clothes were taken out of the single, special drawer they’d previously occupied and were spread throughout the dresser and closet more evenly, mixing in with the smaller, bluer-toned garments that Toushiro wore. Even Ichigo’s old music player found a place in the spare room, the discs on which the music was loaded stacked and put away in a small basket.

And, despite every one of Toushiro’s protestations to the contrary, when they went to bed that night, Ichigo brought the awfully fringed blanket and threw it over top of them. Toushiro scowled at the sight, burying his nose in the scent gland on Ichigo’s collar.

“…it’s still awful, Ichigo,” he muttered sleepily. Ichigo bit his lip on the light laugh that wanted to escape, instead settling for tucking the blankets more securely around his Omega. Somehow Toushiro had managed to press every inch of his lean, wiry frame against Ichigo’s chest and legs, cocooning himself in warmth on one side. So Ichigo was making sure that his boyfriend was equally cozy on the other.

He dropped a hand to lay across Toushiro’s waist, the other curling through soft white hair and stroking. The little motor in Toushiro’s throat started up, his chest vibrating as he purred drowsily. Whatever confusion and reluctance he’d felt earlier had seemed to have disappeared, leaving puddle of sweet-smelling, purring Omega lying in his arms.

“It’s a very cozy blanket though.”          

Toushiro’s purr melted into a thoughtful hum for a moment, his eyes closed. Ichigo leaned into the top of his head, smelling the peppermint-orange scent threaded through his hair.

“Mmmmm…not as cozy as you,” Toushiro murmured. “Love you, moron.”

Ichigo did laugh that time.

“And now I’m the idiot again.”

“Oh, shut up and cuddle me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, the Shannara Chronicles are a fantastic series. They're also what my Hunter x Hunter AU, Seeking Petrichor, drew inspiration from. I highly recommend reading them!


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